This house is choking me. In fact, the kitchen is like the bottom of the sea. The bars hanging on the wall glisten like big round eyes of incredible fish, the dishes slowly float like jellyfish, seaweed and shells catch in my hair I can't get them off afterwards, I can't rise to the surface again The tray falls from my hands, soundless, - I fall down and I see the bubbles from my breath rise, rise and I try to amuse myself by looking at them and I wonder what he'll say if someone is lying above and sees those bubbles, that someone is drowning or that a diver is scanning the depths? And really, there are quite a few times when I find out there, in the depths of drowning, coral and pearls and treasures of wrecked ships, unexpected encounters, and yesterday's and today's futures, a verification of almost eternity, some breathing again, some smile of immortality, as they say, a happiness, a drunkenness, and excitement even, coral and pearls and sapphires, but that I know not how to give them, I give them not, Only I don't know if they can take them But I give them Let me come with you...